


Phantom Pain

by Schediaphilia



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Don't Worry About It, Everything is an AU, First Kiss, First Time, Ghost Sex, Ghost!Bro, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Third Person Limited, Shota, Tagged noncon and dubcon due to the main character being unable to consent due to their age, Voyeurism, WIP, dubcon, major character death due to one of the main characters being dead, on hiatus indefinitely
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 05:03:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12574308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schediaphilia/pseuds/Schediaphilia
Summary: Dave Strider is a normal 12 year old boy in a not-so-ordinary home. The story starts when Dave finds his PlayStation on when he swears he turned it off the night prior and it only goes downhill from there when he discovers there's more to the cold that seems to cling to him every moment he's at home.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My apologies as this is a mess. This is a rapidly scrapped together AU formed for the express purpose of ghost smut and it shows. This is posted largely unedited, so go forward expecting as many errors as one might expect from an unedited fic. Also as a forewarning, expect everyone to be Out of Character as I have no idea what I'm doing.

Dave pauses before opening the front door of his house. Behind the door he hears a man and a woman yelling- his mother and father- and he doesn’t want to go inside. 

He breathes in hard when he realizes his computer is inside, and if he’s fast he can get past without them noticing. So he relents, slowly pushing in the right door of the large double-door, plodding silently as he can through the parlor. The floor creaks but no one calls out to him so he slinks down the cramped hall and up the stairs, relaxing when he reaches the second floor. His parents’ room was on the first floor so they rarely came up here. The second floor was a bit of a mess- many of the rooms were halfway renovated, wallpaper in splotches where paneling once was. 

His parents fought about the unfinished rooms a lot, but he didn’t know the full story. Auntie died before she could finish the renovations- but that was in the 70’s, why hadn’t anyone else done it? What was wrong with Dave’s dad’s family? Didn’t they care about their history? But his mom didn’t care about the history, didn’t care except it was dirty and old but they didn’t have a choice. They couldn’t afford anything else and this land was left on Grandpa’s will and what’s the point of looking a gift horse in the mouth? 

Dave’s room and his attached bathroom were the only modernized rooms on the second floor. An old room that used to be a study was across the hall from his room, and next to it was a guest room with no furniture. A dusty window seat looked out through grimy glass. No one went in there. His mom had tried to clean it up but quickly gave up. A grimy broken rope hung from the ceiling, a ring of wood in its weathered grasp. The attic- there was lots of old stuff up there. Stuff from Grandma Strider, as his dad called her, but Dave knew she wasn’t his grandma. More like great-great-great grandma, but that was a mouth full. 

Sometimes Dave looked up at the attic as he unlocked the door to his room with the weathered key, and this day was one of those times. 

Grandma was a roboticist a long time ago, his dad says she invented the first computer. That this house was given to her by her brother, her brother who died young, that he watched over the house. Sometimes his dad would find pennies in the hallway and would smile, “Uncle Strider is looking over us!” His mom would play along. The flowers on the lawn- the weeds- were gifts from heaven. Their ancestors were watching over them.

But Dave knew they didn’t feel that way. They moved here due to money, they didn’t care about history. It was all pretty words to make the best of a bad situation. Dave didn’t like playing along, so he didn’t. He throws his backpack on his bed and settles down at his computer, booting it up. Dave flicks on the light as it comes to life and runs a hand through his hair. 

It’s cold. It’s always cold in this damn house- the heating system was never finished. And his parents just didn’t listen, no matter how many times he said it was freezing they’d get mad when he put the heat up. He resorted to bundling up in sweatshirts in his room, pouting and glaring behind the sunglasses that were a birthday gift the year prior. He hates this house as much as his parents do. He hates what it represents. Old, grimy, antiquated, ugly. He wipes at his eyes idly as a chill runs through him. 

It’s way too early in the year for it to be this chilly. The second floor always felt cold as hell. Made no damn sense, doesn’t heat rise? Dave sighs and kicks off his shoes. 

His room is relatively large because it was at one time a master bedroom. But he suspected his parents gave him the room since it was so cold. A long time ago, someone died in here. The man who built the home, Uncle Strider, died of pneumonia in his bed, alone. Grandma always felt guilty, so she took care of the house, his only legacy for him. Dave didn’t really care about that sort of thing. He had asked if his new bed was the same one he’d died in- and of course not silly! It’s just the same frame!

But Dave got used to the idea of sleeping behind the same canopies a man died behind pretty quickly. It wasn’t the same mattress, the same pillows, the same covers- nothing like that. Just a canopy bed frame. Man liked his sleep, he could respect that. The bed was in the center of the room, large windows lined the right wall, casting sunlight onto the bed, and his computer desk was nestled against the wall to the right of the bed. He originally put it next to the windows, but the light made it impossible to see, the new position was much better- but he had to run an extension cord under his bed. The the south of his bed stood a dresser, a small LCD screen placed on top, wires poking out of the top drawer. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it efficiently used the space to store clothes and his playstation. 

Dave had gotten into the habit of having the canopy on the left side of the bed closed constantly, it was just easier that way. What was the point of tying it up every morning just to undo it every night? The bottom canopy was always open though, since Dave sat on the foot of his bed to play games and it was a pain in the ass to open it just for that. A lot of Dave’s life was composed of not being assed to do things and figuring out a way around it. 

In some ways, Dave was grateful to have the room. His mom and dad’s rooms- they had separate rooms for awhile now, they were small and claustrophobic and got too hot from the wood heater when they bothered to actually put wood in it. Which wasn’t often. 

But Dave was used to this, he had to be after living here for a year. He finds himself gazing behind black at colorful leaves waving outside his windows. The view was nice, at least. Dave stands, kicking his shoes under his bed, and begins walking back to his computer. He pauses. He notices a dull light coming from his wardrobe, a dull spinning sound emanating. He didn’t notice it right away, but…. He opens the drawer slowly, and his suspicions are confirmed. His playstation hums quietly. He must have left it on last night, he looks around for his controller and spots it on the bed. He thought he’d left that on the wardrobe, but whatever. He was always misplacing things in his room. He turns on the small TV and for a moment is bewildered. And then all he can do is laugh. 

His mind is already working a mile a minute, and he’s pulling out his smartphone and he takes the shittest picture he can. The game is at a level he has no memory of- that’s hilarious! This was like some creepypasta shit, Dave could spin this so hard. The system probably overheated by being on all day in the wooden wardrobe with little-to-no airflow. Dave checked his save data- yup, all intact. He turned off the console and chucked his controller into the drawer next to it. 

Well, that was certainly going to bring some excitement into an otherwise dull October afternoon. Hell, it was even the season for it! His computer is booted up by then so he settles at his computer with a small smirk on his face as he connects his phone to his computer.

Soon enough, he’s started a thread on 4chan, his favorite board to half-heartedly troll: Paranormal, also known as /x/. 

“Subject: demon playing video games

pic related. what do? think it’s dangerous? came home to it like this, never even gotten to this level before.”

His work was done, for now. He could spin this tale later- oh yes, he certainly could. He was already opening photoshop in preparation for the next bold movement in his narrative. He thinks the game is haunted, because of course it is, and OH NO HYPER REALISTIC HYPER VIOLENT BLOOD EYES! Dave spends the rest of the evening inadvisably photoshopping poorly done blood and eyes onto several monsters in the game. When he has several pictures suitably conceivably shitty, he checks the board. Shit, really, no bites? He knows it’s a slow moving board but come on. Ugh, this was really throwing a wrench into his whole, “Troll a bunch of stoner hippies,” thing. Whatever, it’s 8 PM and Dave’s tired. He didn’t eat dinner but he was used to that- it wasn’t like his parents cooked dinner anymore. He places his sunglasses gingerly onto his desk as he considers this.They ate separately. He resigned himself to wake up early to finish his homework (Yeah, right.) and switched off the lights of his room. Shit, it was so cold. He always felt cold but when night fell it was like he lived in a refrigerator. Not cold enough to kill, but if he happened to die his body would be pretty fresh for a few hours at least. 

With that morbid thought, Dave shucks off his clothes and quickly worms his way into his bed. There- that’s much better. The heavy comforter always warmed him up. He finds himself rubbing the back of his neck, a chill running down his spine, his heart beating almost imperceptibly faster. Dave has gotten used to this feeling- it seems to plague him whenever he’s at home. A chill running down his spine, goosebumps prickling his skin, his heart speeding up- it felt like he was being watched. He didn’t believe in supernatural shit- hell, he made fun of people who did believe in it. It was just because he was cold, this part of the house was freezing. He closes his eyes, and finds his heart slowing back to its normal rate as he reminds himself he isn’t being watched. He isn’t. 

Dave’s eyes open slowly, as he mumbles to himself. His hand is in the air, batting away a noise, but it doesn’t stop. He sits up and realizes he must’ve fallen asleep. What time is it? He blinks groggily, a hand swiping at one eye as he realizes the noise is coming from the foot of his bed. He must’ve left his console on or something. Dave at first doesn’t understand what he sees on the TV… Was it some sort of demo? The character was moving around- but games didn’t have demos anymore, right? That was an old school thing…. But then… Why was it…. 

Dave freezes, his breath hitching in his throat when he looks at the foot of his bed. For several moments he convinces himself it’s a trick of moonlight, moonlight and LCD, but then…. He hears buttons clacking. A control stick moving. He gulps as he finds his legs reflexively moving him upwards, and he’s on his knees, breathing tight gasps and shaking when he finally accepts the reality of the situation.

The controller was floating. It was  _ fucking floating _ \- and that’s all motivation Dave needs before bolting out of his room in nothing but his briefs, and he doesn’t even process where he’s going or what he’s doing until he’s leaning against the kitchen table, cold sweat dripping from his brow. He finds himself fumbling with phone, the phone he’d grabbed out of instinct alone, because he had to tell someone. No- who would believe him? There was no one stupid enough to believe… 

His hands were shaking as he found his thread on /x/. The denizens of /x/ weren’t particularly interested in his picture, but some folks had taken a liking to it. He didn’t bother reading, and found himself writing.

“hey

op here

so im sort of freaking the fuck out right now

i woke up and my game was on and it was going by itself

what do i do

need help ASAP”

As Dave waited for responses he couldn’t fucking believe his life up to that point had led to him trembling half naked in his kitchen at 3AM. Dave didn’t believe in ghosts, or demons, or anything really. But in the face of indisputably supernatural phenomena he had no choice and his first reaction was to avoid it. Who knows what it can do? If it can hold a controller, it can smother him to death with a pillow in his sleep! Or worse! 

It wasn’t long before a few folks responded to his thread, but it wasn’t useful.

“nice b8 op go back to /r/nosleep”

“rip OP”

That last one certainly didn’t help his ongoing efforts to stop trembling. It felt like hours before a useful message appeared.

“Seems like you got yourself a poltergeist. You should be safe, but if you’re worried, spread a circle of salt around yourself. Demons wouldn’t be interested in any sort of human recreation, it’s below them. You said you came home to it on, do you work during the day?”

Dave gulped, but felt himself calm slightly while he read the words. Whoever this was, they sounded like they knew their shit. 

“op here

i go to school during the day” 

Dave finds himself calming down as he waits for the next message and hopes the anon doesn’t disappear. He pours himself a glass of apple juice and discards the bottle into the bottle bin. He sits at the table again, one leg under his ass as he fumbles his body anxiously. It doesn’t take them long to respond.

“Interesting. What you have on your hands appears to be a fairly powerful poltergeist, an old one I’d say. At least 100 years. It takes a lot of energy for them to enact on objects during the day time.”

“is that bad? will it kill me?”

Dave sips his juice anxiously, needing to be sure.

“Oh, no, of course not. If it wanted to kill you, it would’ve done so already.”

For a moment it feels like Dave’s stomach has dropped out of his body. He blinks, adjusting his breath. This thing- this poltergeist- whatever it was- it could kill him. It could kill his parents. But… He breathed in. No, it had chosen not to. They’d lived here a year, they’d moved in just before Dave’s 12th birthday and it was already October. Anon was right. Dave should be safe. 

“is this normal behavior for poltergeists?”

“Poltergeists are naturally playful in nature, if not a bit bitter. So while I’ve never seen such a thing documented, it wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest. It’s likely seen you play it and has chosen to emulate you, and from the sounds of it, this isn’t the first time it’s played the game. I’d say to let it have its fun, lest it get bored. There’s nothing more unruly than a bored poltergeist. With that being said- they are not normally violent. So OP has no need to worry about ghostly impalations anytime soon.”

As Dave finished reading the anon’s post, he realizes he's calmed down a lot. He bites his lip and drinks from his empty glass. He can’t bring himself to go up to his room. He’s not sure how long he sits there in the warm kitchen, sticky cold sweat sticking to his skin. By the time he manages to will himself to enter his room, the sun is poking its beams into his room when he pushes open the door. The light cascades gently upon the wooden floor, reflecting off the plastic of the controller laying at the foot of his bed. Dave tries to resist the urge to tremble as the coldness he’s grown familiar with washes over his skin, as he stares at the TV congratulating him for completing a level he’s never started. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dave makes a connection with his local, friendly ghost.

Dave pauses before opening the front door of his house. Behind the door he knows there lies a ghost- a poltergeist- and he doesn’t want to go inside. Today at school had gone by too fast for his liking. For once, he wished school lasted longer. The one time he wanted school to go by slowly, it’s like time is slipping through his fingers like sand and he hates it. 

Dave hadn’t gotten any sleep after he’d woken up. He’d gotten dressed, his teeth clenched and eyes closed at the overwhelming chill running down his body as he threw on his clothes and grabbed his keys, backpack, and phone charger. He was at school thirty minutes early, happy to be out of his house. He realized he’d forgotten something vital as he waited in the lunchroom for the first bell. He’d forgotten his glasses. 

His friend, his only friend at this school, had noticed of course. After all, he’d given Dave the glasses for his birthday last year. He’d joked Dave looked like a “cool kid” and they’d increase his coolness by at least 500%. 

He felt like shit but he’d told him no, he was fine- he was just in a rush this morning! He had no answer for why he was 30 minutes early if he was in a rush. Dave grit his teeth and closed his eyes as he stood there, the autumn air brushing gently against his cheek. John had looked at him with concern the rest of the day, but didn’t push the issue. He probably thought he didn’t like them anymore… Dave sighs to himself, his thoughts leaving his head feeling heavy and dizzy while his fatigue felt like a frozen spike jammed into his core. Dave was a bit sleep dysfunctional at the best of times, sleeping 4 hours when he needed to sleep the most, and oversleeping when he ought to be awake. An all-nighter thrown into his dysfunctional schedule had set him over a line, directly headfirst into overt sleep deprivation and it showed in his shadeless eyes. 

He unlocked the front door and entered his silent home, cursing himself for forgetting them. He couldn’t tell John he’s forgotten them because he was scared of a ghost, that was stupid. So stupid. His mom has Tuesday and Wednesday off work, and his dad had Wednesday and Monday off, so Thursdays were always this quiet. His dad sometimes left him takeout from the night before, and sometimes his mom would make dinner. Today was one of the days he found a plate of leftovers in the fridge for dinner, along with her usual passive aggressive notes. 

He sighs as he opens the fridge and pauses. He knows there’s an unopened bottle of apple juice in here. He pokes around, and spots a strange container… Is this bleach? Dave pauses, holding it, eyebrows furrowed. A frown falls on his mouth. He places it on the counter and digs- dryer sheets, laundry detergent, rat poison. Somehow he doubts his mom decided to set up a delectable poisonous bounty. He takes out all the items and considers them. 

It’s not likely his dad was responsible for this either. 

“There’s nothing more unruly than a bored poltergeist,” rang through his head not for the first time that day. He’d left his playstation on for it, he thought it’d appreciate that. What, did he piss it off or something? He feels more annoyed than afraid for some reason. There was a pattern to this madness, surely. He looks under the sink first and sure enough, there’s his apple juice next to the drain cleaner. Dave pulls it out and inspects it, but it’s as unopened as it was before. He looks at the other items on the counter. 

He’s not sure where these go normally, but his mom will think it was him if he doesn’t put them back… He settles on putting the bleach under the sink. Now for the rat poison… He ambles to the first floor bathroom and opens the cabinet under the sink. He blinks a few times at the box of cereal he finds there. Well, that wasn’t a refrigerated item, but it was good enough. He wanders back into the kitchen, replaces the tartar sauce in the cupboard for the cereal, and places the tarter sauce where he found the laundry detergent. Finally, the dryer sheets, those were usually on top of the dryer in the kitchen, and Dave was fairly certain handsoap didn’t belong there. So he wandered back into the bathroom and put the hand soap back in its place. 

Dave considers his work in the kitchen but something still feels missing. Out of place. Moreso than usual, that is. Dave spends a few more minutes fumbling around trying to figure out the out of place item, but it’s no use. He’s too tired. 

“Good ‘nuff,” he mumbles as he trudges up the stairs while lazily hanging the handle of the apple juice from his fingers. When he reaches the top of the stairs he takes a big gulp from the carton. He really didn’t want to go into his room right now. He was somewhere between fear and annoyance. If it could move around bleach, it could put it in his food or something. It hadn’t, but it could. But wasn’t that a stupid assumption to make? Why was he operating under the assumption this was the act of a ghost? Maybe he was just sleep deprived. Maybe he’d hallucinated last night, that was becoming a more appealing option by the second. He pulls out his keys to unlock his door and stares at the door, needing a second to compute that his door is already ajar. 

His eyes flick up to a passive aggressive sticky note on his door. 

“Sweetie, you left your nintendo on so it turned it off for you. Try not to waste electricity. Love you, Mom.”

Dave stares at the note in his fingers for a few moments. As he pushes into his room, sure enough, his TV and playstation are off. The controller is upside down on the floor. He finds himself biting his lip. 

He’d gone out of his way to leave it on for it, and his mom had wandered upstairs for probably the first time in a god damn year just to turn it off. What were the chances of that? Dave sighed and threw his backpack onto his bed. He was behind in math and English already but he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit. He was too tired. And just a little bit afraid because he could feel that chill, that chill he tried not to notice wasn’t in the kitchen. 

“Uhm… hey…. Sorry about my mom,” Dave said to no one before shutting his damn mouth. This was  _ stupid _ . Dave stands awkwardly in the middle of his room awkwardly, unsure if he wants to close the door or not. He finally decides to close it after five minutes and boots up his computer. 

Quickly, he finds himself on /x/, finds his thread. It seems he’d gained more attention overnight. But right now he didn’t care about that, he wanted answers. 

“op back

came home to stuff in really weird places

bleach was in the fridge cereal was in the bathroom cupboard sort of shit

i left the playstation on for it when i left for school but i guess my mom turned it off i think she pissed it off”

Dave waits for an hour while staring through his math textbook. When the anon doesn’t appear for another twenty minutes, he closes the book. There were a few good suggestions, but Dave had a feeling they weren’t from the anon he’d spoken to late last night. But that made sense, they weren’t on right now. They must only come on very late at night. Today wasn’t going to be a day Dave would speak to them in real time, not with the way his eyes kept threatening to bat closed. 

“Leave the game on for it. Its better at the game than your are.” 

Thanks, asshole. Not a bad idea, actually. So Dave turned the volume down on the TV so his parents wouldn’t hear it again and left it and the playstation on as he crawls into bed still in his day clothes. He thinks to himself he’s just going to lay down for a moment, just rest his eyes.

But when he opens his eyes again, the sunlight illuminating his room is gone, it’s dark and the only light is the fuzzy blue light on sock-clad feet. He hears it again- click click, crack- buttons being pushed, the directional stick being manipulated. It’s playing. Dave promised himself he wouldn’t freak out as he opens his eyes and sits up. His heart speeds up, his skin clammy and he realizes he’s  _ freezing _ . 

Dave doesn’t want to think about what this chill means, what it means for the past year here. He gulps, heart in his throat as he looks at the TV. It’s…. It’s good at it. Better than him. 

“H-” Dave stumbles on the word despite only being a single syllable,” hi.” 

The controller pauses and Dave wants to laugh and cry at the sight of hanging in the air like that. A trick of moonlight- yeah, right. 

“I’m sorry my mom turned it off today,” Dave says quietly, knows it’s listening, “You probably didn’t get to save, huh?” 

It’s quiet for a moment. Then the character moves, the controller moves, and it’s so surreal Dave doesn’t feel as afraid when he watches it, he feels somehow removed from the situation despite the presence he can feel at the end of his bed. He watches it play the first level and he can tell from watching it’s had a lot of practice at this. That made sense, he thought of what the anon who sounded like they knew their shit had said. It’d probably played it a lot while Dave was away… and each time it lost its’ progress. 

“Uhm… do you know how to save the game?” 

Movement paused for a moment. 

Could it talk? As the silence lingered, Dave realized it might not be able to. He glanced around awkwardly trying to find a solution as his heart beat faster. Had he pissed it off? 

“Shoot on bullet for yes, two for no.” 

Dave didn’t have to wait long before a bullet was shot into the wall in front of the character- and then another. 

“Do… you want me to show you how?” 

Dave thought again… It was old. It’d learned from watching him. Saving was a quick process, and if you weren’t adept with technology, you might miss it. 

A single bullet was shot into the wall, the graphics effect of the bullet hole quickly disappearing as- Dave jumped when the controller flew over to him. No- it hadn’t flown, it was holding it. Holding it out to him. His hands shook as he reached out, reeling from the slight resistance when he gripped it, he felt it let go as he took it into his hands.

“Okay, you press this little button up here…” Dave worked slowly, let it see the pause menu, and then pressed it twice more to show make sure it had seen where it was. 

“Then you go down here, where it says ‘Save.’,” he let it hover the option for several moments. He clicked once more, “Okay, I’m going to save your progress for you under my file. Then you can pick up from where you were last time- well, you probably know your can do that. That’s why you were mad today, right?” Dave rambled mostly to himself as he made the file, and realized he had no idea what he should enter for a name. He stared at the cold air not even two feet from him, looking for some sort of answer. But there was no identifying information to be found from the cold air or the moonlight. So he entered the only thing he could think of. 

“YOU” stared at both of them from the screen as he saved the file. He hesitantly held out the controller, jumping at the freezing feeling on his hand before it was floating again. Not floating. Whatever. 

“Did you catch all that?” Dave asked quietly when it exited the pause menu, seemingly intent on playing. A single bullet slammed into the pillar as he ran past it. Dave’s mouth felt so dry and his body felt so clammy. A cold sweat was running down his skin as he wondered if he should say anymore.

“I’m really tired so uh… good night,” Dave mumbled the last part. 

Could ghosts sleep? It shot once in response again, but what else could it do? It seems limited to interacting with objects and only had two options. This was why Ouija boards existed, right? Maybe Dave could make one? He pondered these things to himself as he turned towards the canopy, staring at the deep red curtain as he tried to quiet his heavy mind. This thing, this poltergeist- It didn’t mean to him any harm. He could tell that now. It was bored, that’s all. But even knowing that, in the face of the supernatural is was perhaps normal to feel fear. When he finally fell asleep he was clenching his jaw, his eyes closed so tightly it hurt. 

When his alarm went off, it was still playing. Waking up to it again didn’t surprise Dave, but what did surprise him was that somehow it was a lot less intimidating in the pale yellow beams of sunlight. It was more friendly as a trick of sunlight. 

He pulls himself out of bed, careful not to disturb it. He wanders into his bathroom and nearly cringes at the state of himself. He doesn’t have the time for a shower right now, so he runs a comb through his greasy hair and brushes his teeth. He lost his shoes and one of his socks at some point while sleeping. He wanders back into his room and somehow, as he stands there in the morning light, this scene is almost natural. For a moment it feels completely usual to have a ghost playing video games on your bed. 

“Morning,” Dave greets it. Wow, it got a few levels ahead. It was almost caught up with him. Dave gathered his things, the discarded maths textbook, his keys and threw on his shades. Couldn’t forget those again. As Dave throws on his sweatshirt, a thought occurs to him. 

“Hey, I’m gonna lock the door so my mom can’t bother you today,” Dave says in the direction of the controller as he double checks he has everything. He locates the sock and shoes next to where it must be sitting- could ghosts sit?- and he sits next to it hesitantly to pull the footwear on. He shivers a bit. To his right it feels like… Well, it was sortof indescribable. Like an icy wind in the middle of winter but entirely motionless, stagnant. Like an icy wind that had been forever frozen in time. 

He stood when he’d finished and found himself standing just staring at it for a few moments. But that was probably rude. It was rude to stare at living people, anyway. He exits his room and locks it, making sure he slips his keys into his pocket. As he walked downstairs he can hear his parents- 

“Well Dave didn’t put mayonnaise in the washer, I didn’t put mayonnaise in the washer- so who the hell did?!” 

Ah, that’s what was out of place. His mom was pretty mad this morning and he knew if she saw him she’d pester him into siding with her. He leaves the house as quietly as he can and walks to school early again. 

The day goes about as normal as it could go. Far more normal than his home life, anyway. John seems relieved to see him in his shades but still pesters him. Dave has been acting weird. Well, of course he was acting weird. Dave changes the subject, can he copy the English homework? 

And that’s how Dave ends up turning in two days of math and English assignments that day, and how he manages to make it through yet another tedious day of studying things he couldn’t give a shit about. 

He walks home and when he looked up at the large house he calls home, he doesn’t hesitate. He unlocks the door and pushes his way in, lock the door behind him. He still feels bizarre about this whole thing. When he unlocks the door to his room, something feels off. He pushes open the door and pauses to take in the situation. The TV was off, but a soft humming was coming from the top drawer. As he walked in, he realized what the difference was in his room. It was warm. 

He sits down and turns on the TV, and he’s staring at the save screen with the second save file highlighted. Where once stood the letters Y, O, and U now stood in a white font B, R, and O.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do ghosts have butts? Dunno, but they definitely got dicks.

“Is the house historical? Are you aware of any untimely deaths that took place there?”

“well yeah its super old my dad’s dad’s dad’s mom owned the place and before that it was owned by the guy who built it. i guess he died of pneumonia a few years after he built the place”

“That’s quite interesting. Your great-great-great grandmother’s brother. Did he, by chance, die a bachelor? Or perhaps after the untimely death of a wife or children?” 

“no he died alone cause no one knew he was sick his no one told grandma for months”

“An unattended, painful, extended death all alone… That would certainly explain why it’s sticking around to this realm. I think it’s safe to say the identity of your mysterious poltergeist is the very same ancestor, and I cannot blame him. If I died in such agony, I’d spend my eternity bitterly attached to the same world that left me to die. How long have you noticed his presence?”

“well since weve moved in its been super cold in my room but i guess that makes sense

dad told me he died in here”

“You should have opened with that information… Pray tell, do you own any items that belonged to him?”

“well

The bed frame at least

maybe more stuff”

“Oh, dear. That certainly explains a lot. He seems preoccupied with you but that’s not surprising, you’re in the room where he died after all. Have you had the sensation of being watched at all?”

“yeah

all the time”

“Lol are you seriously buying this shit? Stop feeding the troll.”

“I will feed whomever I like. Thank you for answering, OP. Considering what you’ve said over these past several days, I can confirm your poltergeist is harmless if not a bit… Obsessed with you.”

Dave reads the last sentence three times before angrily closing the tab. That was bullshit. He could understand him being pissed he was sleeping in his bed- if it WAS a him and not an it- but obsessed with him? That didn’t make any sense. 

It was a Friday night, or perhaps a Saturday morning, and he’d resolved to stay up to talk to the helpful anon in real time but right now he was feeling like an idiot for staying up just for this. His room was quiet and as warm as it had been when he’d arrived home. It didn’t make any sense, it was always so cold. He didn’t want to think about it. 

He trudged into the bathroom and flicked on the lights, and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Ugh, that needed to be fixed. Immediately. He turned on the shower, giving it time to warm up as he took a piss. His shower was moreso a bathtub with a showerhead mounted onto the wall and a faucet that switched between the tub and shower head, but it worked for his needs. His mom had really wanted this room because of the deep bathtub, but somehow or another they ended up giving it to Dave. Maybe his mom was superstitious. At any point prior to this point in his life, Dave would’ve thought that was silly but considering his recent experiences he couldn’t hold it against her. 

Dave sheds his clothes and feels ten times better with them off his skin. He puts his shades on the sink before he tests the water temperature. He liked it hot, so hot it almost hurt. After some fiddling with the cold faucet, he finds the temperature he likes best and climbs into the tub. When the hot water hits his skin it burns at first and he yelps quietly, his face turning up to the water. He lets out a deep sigh as the water cascades across his face, down his neck, his sweaty body. He squeezes shampoo into his hand and rubs it into his scalp, a slimy feeling running down his face as he lathers it out of the way of the water. The shampoo feels cold in his fingers, and the contrast against the hot stream of water was exhilarating to his fingertips and scalp. He lets out another deep, pleased sigh as he returns into the direct line of the water, more of that sliminess swimming down his face in hot streams of water as he rinses out the shampoo. 

With all the shampoo rinsed out he reaches for the bar of soap and it’s right then the water shits out on him. Suddenly it’s freezing cold cascading on his skin and he curses, backs away from the icey water. But the cold doesn’t leave him. He opens his eyes, blinking away water in his lashes and brushes his wet hair from his face. He holds a hand out to the water- it’s hot. His eyes dart around the bathroom. For several moments he doesn’t want to admit to himself what’s happening right now. 

But as Dave returns to the stream of water, the chill settles in despite the warm water, and it’s how it’s always felt when he’s showered.  _ It’s how it’s always felt _ .

_ “Have you had the sensation of being watched at all?”  _

_ “all the time” _

Dave cuts his bathing routine short by several steps and hesitates after turning off the water. He knew that knew. He- or whatever it was- it  _ knew _ that Dave knew. Dave steps out of the tub and wraps a towel around himself a bit more hurriedly than he would’ve normally. 

When he puts his shades on and re-enters his bedroom, everything feels like normal. He followed him back inside. Maybe… he’s… watching over him? Making sure he doesn’t slip and bleed to death? Somehow, that answer didn’t sound right to Dave. 

Normally he liked to air dry. His room did have a lock after all. But considering this new development… Well, wait. It wasn’t like… this was the first time he had seen Dave naked. Dave is sitting on the edge of his bed, his body bent over as he fiddles with his hands. 

“Can you… uhm… look away?” 

Dave waited, and while he knew he had no way of knowing for sure, he decided after thirty seconds he had looked away. Otherwise he’d be sitting here all night waiting. He hesitated for a moment before deciding, “fuck it,” and drying himself as quickly as he could. He wanted to go to sleep after staying up so late, it was 3 AM for fuck’s sake, so it was a rushed job that left his hair damp. He walked to the wardrobe and opened the second drawer, fishing out a pair of briefs. Dave leaves the towel on the floor as he sits on the right side of his bed, and as he puts his feet through the briefs a chill runs down his spine.

Does… that mean what he thinks it means…? 

He resists the urge to cover himself up. No, he’d asked him to turn away. He wasn’t some sort of weird pervert ghost, right? He was  _ related _ to him. Dave resolves to himself there is no way in hell the ghost is watching him before he stands and bends over, fingers looping in the waistband to finish the job. For a moment, he pauses like that, because this terrible shiver runs down his spine. He slams his eyes shut and pulls the briefs up faster than he ever has in his life. 

Dave still isn’t sure what to think when he turns off the bathroom light before walking back to his bed. Suddenly, he felt exposed, like his pale skin was being watched in the moonlight and- oh!

“You can turn around now! Sorry!” 

Dave freezes stock still at a strange noise. The quiet laughter of a man, a man he can’t see even when he spins his body around. 

Oh, okay, that was new. Would’ve been nice to know he could do that. Dave totally didn’t just have a mini-heart attack. This is fine. 

“Can… you talk?” 

Dave waited. And then he waited more. Dave took the silence as either he could not, or just didn’t want to. Dave turns on the TV and leaves the controller on the left side of the bed- where he liked to sit and play, at least that’s where Dave thinks he’s sitting- and crawls into bed. His damp hair sticks uncomfortably to his skin, but in a way it’s refreshing after feeling so grimy. 

Dave isn’t surprised when the game starts itself up. No, at this point, the ghost playing the game was the most normal part of this. 

Dave closes his eyes and while he’d love to overthink what just happened, his sleep deprived body has other ideas.

He’s in a field, a field by his house- but there is no field by his house. He’s wandering through the tall grass, pushing it aside. His fingers tingle, his face tickles where the grass scratches him. He can see his home over the grass, so large and so luminescent- luminescent? No, it wasn’t glowing, it was opaque, abstracts shapes glued onto one another, and Dave is standing in front of it on a pool of frozen water. The water splashes under his feet as he walks forward, a cold breeze blowing into his face- and then he’s in a room. 

He’s in his room, but it’s winter time, and it’s so cold. It’s so, so cold. He’s lying in bed, and he can’t breathe. His lungs feel like they’re full of lead, his body is so hot, he feels so weak- and then he’s staring at himself from the foot of his bed. But he’s not himself, he’s staring at someone he’s never seen before. Blond hair, trim facial hair, breathing hard but so little air pushing out of his blue lips. The man he’s never met, his eyes flicker open and they’re white, so very, very white but that’s to be expected. 

After all, he’s dead.

Dave knows exactly who this is, and the man is looking at him and they’re standing next to each other, they’re laying on top of one another- And he’s so cold. He’s so fucking cold. His body feels like ice on his, and he’s so broad, so much larger than him, but even though his lips are blue and his finger tips are frozen he’s smiling. He’s smiling and and Dave is smiling, their lips follow the same pattern, the same texture, the same taste, so so cold- They embrace, cold lips upon warm, blue lips upon pink, large cold hands holding small warm hands- and Dave’s whispering secrets, secrets he’s never told anyone, not even himself into the man’s ear and the man is smiling, smiling and kissing Dave’s neck- 

_ “Leave a piece of paper and a pen for me.” _

Dave wakes up in a cold sweat with a jolt. His hand is on his neck, checking the skin there. He had felt so cold, he’d felt like he was burning from the inside out. He catches his breath. He’s sitting up in bed when he realizes it was a dream. His eyes flutter open when he remembers the words. Had… 

Dave looks at the TV. It’s on the save screen and… There was something different. It takes Dave a minute to realize the difference is that the second file was on New Game Plus. Dave checks the time on his phone, 6AM. So he’d beaten it, then? So he got bored and… Gave him that weird dream? 

Leave a piece of paper and a pen for him… That was simple enough, he supposed. Dave was a little annoyed at being woken up so early on a Sunday, but whatever. The guy was bored and he was glad he wasn’t switching his apple juice for ragu or something. 

Dave ripped a few pages out of one of his notebooks from school and fished out a pencil. That was close enough, right? He sharpened it and sat at his desk. He’d beaten the game, huh? That officially made him better than Dave and he didn’t even have a pulse. That was more than a little disheartening. 

He frowns at the blank page.

“How’d you get past the big pig guy?” 

He leaves the pencil on the page. But there isn’t any movement. It’s warm, Dave realizes. So he spends the day dicking around, as is usual. It was weird without the normal chill in his room, but that just meant he could lounge around in his underwear all day. Well, if he didn’t want to eat. He eventually relented and dressed to eat, but the entire day continued the same. 

No chill, no eyes on him. In a strange way, Dave felt disappointed. The night goes normally, Dave gets as little sleep as he normally does and for the first time for the past four days it’s not because of the ghost. 

And then Monday goes as normal as usual and it’s so incredibly normal that it’s almost disturbing. But why did that matter to Dave? Four days alone isn’t enough to make a new normal, why was he so unnerved by the relative normalcy? If anything, he should be relieved things were back to normal. He should he happy the cold breeze that made leaves scatter with a delicate crackling across the sidewalk pavement was just a cold breeze and not anything strange or supernatural. This chill was normal, natural. 

He walks into his home with the same lack of fanfare. He drinks a glass of apple juice without having to search. He unlocks his bedroom door and- he’s somehow relieved as he steps in. That same, normal chill is here. He throws his backpack on his bed and kicks off his shoes and looks at the page on his desk in confusion for several moments. He’d forgotten entirely about it. Immediately, Dave notices new writing.

In a deep, scratchy and wavy writing it reads, “CROSSBOW.” Dave can tell by looking at the writing, it wasn’t an easy feat to write out the word and he feels blood rush to his cheeks as he realizes this. He just wasted his and the ghost’s time by asking something so stupid. He could’ve asked his name, determined if he really was who he thought he was. He could’ve asked what it feels like when you die. Anything. 

Dave grumbles and sits down, fingers nearly pulling at his hair. He bites his lips and stares down at the paper with his brows furrowed and teeth grit. 

“Who are you? Why’d you write BRO on your savefile? What does it feel like when you die? Are you related to me? How long have you been dead?”

Dave stares down at the hastily written questions, written one after another. He couldn’t expect these answers quickly but Dave was okay with that. He sharpens the pencil and looks around his room. He’s somewhere in here. He isn’t sure where, but he can tell. 

“Uh… you don’t have to answer these right away. Don’t feel… pressured or nothing.”

Dave feels like a fucking idiot talking to himself to cold stagnant air. Whatever. He boots up his playstation and loads his own file, and tests out, uh, BRO’s answer. And it works, more or less. Dave usually when with the rifle ‘cause it was faster to reload and had a similar amount of armor piercing and damage, but Dave immediately noticed the crossbow was doing way more damage. He ends up beating the “big pig guy”, the boss of the second area, and playing the game up to the third boss. By then it’s kind of late so he ducks out of his room for a sandwich and half-asses his homework while eating it. 

Dave wipes crumbs of bread off his lips and steals glances at the paper he and…. BRO? were communicating on but there was not new writing. Dave was excited to see the responses and hoped it wasn’t rude to ask. Wasn’t like he was well versed in ghost etiquette. Or 1800’s etiquette. Or whenever the hell he’d been alive. 

Dave rolled the name BRO around in his head as he finished up his math problems. It was certainly better than “it” and “him” and he’d actually chosen it. So that was more to work off of than guess work. It wasn’t like he didn’t have more letters to work with, Dave’s own file was named “dickbutt”, the dude could totally have put in anything he liked. Well, Dave guessed he didn’t figure out how to enter lowercase letters. But still, there was a reason behind that, right? He could’ve just left it. Maybe it- no, he wanted to be called that. 

That was the other bit of information the ghost had afforded him, the dream. He’d seen him, so he knew he was a him. He couldn’t be sure how much was his own meddling brain and how much was the ghost’s- BRO’s- influence but somehow he knew. That was he had looked like. And… Dave shivered as he remembered when he had been looking through BRO’s eyes… Was that BRO’s memories or just Dave’s brain throwing random ideas together? Is that how he felt when he… 

Dave can’t focus on his algebra. He just about tosses his textbooks into his backpack and does his normal nightly routine. Which, now that he thought about, had been pretty disrupted for several days now. He brushes his teeth, takes a piss, and strips without fanfare. He doesn’t bother to turn on the TV. BRO seems bored of it now. And besides, he knows how to turn it on on his own. Dave’s turning it on for him was moreso an olive branch from living to dead, a symbolic gesture of, “hey I know you’re here so I’m giving you permission to play me game!” but permission was never needed. It was just that, a gesture. Albeit, one that was graciously accepted with gusto. BRO was probably- no, no fuck that. He wasn’t going to keep thinking of him as BRO what is he a shitty robot? Bro was probably pretty happy to be given free reign of his games now that Dave knew he was here. If Dave was a super old ghost who was bored out of his mind, he’d probably be pretty happy in the same situation. He guessed. Maybe being dead makes you see things differently. 

He crawls into bed, immediately relieved at the softness encompassing him so sweetly. Soft pillow, soft mattress, soft blanket. Man, sleeping is so good. He really ought to do it more often. 

When he feels cold wash over his body, he doesn’t react further than shivering. An autonomous response, much like the goosebumps that rise on his skin as the cold only seems to increase. Huh, that’s a little weird he wasn’t normally this cold- Something pushes into his back.

He jumps. 

“H-hey!” He turns around and sits up. His shoulder feels so cold- cold tendrils run along his shoulder blade. No, those are fingers. He blinks rapidly when he feels the same chill at his nose, his eyelids fluttering at he feels plastic pulled off his face. He stares open-mouthed for a second at his floating shades. No, not floating, he’s holding them. Bro closes the glasses and then the chill leaves him just a bit, Dave’s shades gently clatter on the desk. 

Dave is left blinking like an idiot, mouth still open. 

“Guess I, uh, forgot them… Thanks.” 

But that chill he hasn’t felt before is on him again. No, he’s felt this. He’s felt this in his dreams he realizes when he’s pushed down onto his bed. Dave’s heart is suddenly lodged directly in his throat and for once it’s not entirely out of fear. His lips tingle, bending under unseen force, and Dave tries to discern what Bro’s doing. A finger? That made the most sense, a cold finger running along his bottom lip- Dave gasped as his mouth was suddenly pulled open. He blushed but didn’t fight back as that finger pulled his jaw down, hooked around his teeth. He was looking at Dave’s mouth? Or maybe he was testing him? 

Dave shudders when the force pulling his jaw open pulls away. Did he pass? Then there’s unmistakable fingers in his hair, pulling him and something so soft and cold it makes Dave’s body jump. Bro isn’t hurting him, but he’s moving his body with such aggression Dave thinks it’s entirely possible he could if he wanted to. And somehow, that makes him feel better. He could hurt him, but he’s not. Instead, this… actually feels pretty nice. Dave’s eyes squeeze closed when something wet drags along his neck and… 

Dave realizes he needs to accept the reality of the situation. And that reality is the ghost who lives in his bedroom is obsessed with him. Dave knew it when he realized he was watching him shower, had been watching him shower. He bites his lip and whimpers quietly despite himself. 

Dave puts together all the facts he knows about this situation and they tumble through brain in broken fragments as something hard runs along the skin under his ear- teeth. Teeth, he’s running his teeth on his skin and Dave has never felt like this before and- This ghost, he’s called himself Bro. Or BRO to be more accurate, but fuck that. And there was a strong possibility it was the ghost of someone related to him- but he really didn’t seem to mind that factor at all considering the fact he was gently biting Dave’s ear, his cold breath washing over him in a way that was entirely new to Dave and utterly tantalizing. 

Dave moans and turns his head to give him more access. And then Dave feels lips against his neck again, a smirk against his neck, and a hand trailing up his chest. Dave closes his eyes and gasps against cold lips as a hand runs up Dave’s chest. Dave kisses back as well as he can, which isn’t very well at all considering this is his first kiss. But Bro doesn’t seem to mind and kisses him hard, his freezing cold tongue brushing against Dave’s. It feels good, it feels really good, Dave loves the feeling of his tongue on his and wraps his arms blindly around him and pulls him closer. He feels so heavy on him, he’s so much bigger than him. But then that cold is pulling away, that heaviness is leaving his body and Dave panics. 

Did he do something wrong? Dave reaches out blindly, swatting at the air, and catches onto something. No, something catches onto him. His arm is pulled and he follows it, let’s Bro move him. Bro lets go when Dave’s situated on his side and Dave feels cold fingers rubbing u his arm- and then that cold presence is on him again. He must be close, he reaches forwards and finds cold flesh. A chest? He doesn’t have a chance to explore before fingers are in his hair again, pulling him directly into another freezing kiss. Dave moans hotly into the kiss, hand still running along Bro’s skin. A large hand is on his hip, hooking under the elastic of his briefs and suddenly Dave doesn’t mind if he sees. No, he wants him to, if it means he’ll keep kissing him. 

So Dave follows his lead and leans his hips away from the bed and lets him pull them down, and when he shivers as the fabric slips down his legs it’s not entirely from the cold. When Dave realizes what Bro’s going to do, he’s so excited he accidentally bites down- but Bro only pulls away for a moment before his lips are on him again. Dave whines into the kiss, feeling suffocated in a delightful way as cold fingers run along his hard dick. Dave hadn’t realized he excited this had made him until now, now that Bro was wrapping his hand around him. 

A cold grip fell on his hand, and guided to… Dave knew exactly what it was Bro had guided his hand to. He was big, and just as cold as the rest of him. Dave’s eyes flicked up nothing but looked for his, the eyes of the man who was touching him, who he was touching. He didn’t know what he was doing, if he didn’t like it he wouldn’t know he wanted him to stop. 

Dave resolved to close his eyes and pump on the large dick in his hand like he did his own. The moment he started, so did Bro, and Dave was so enamored by the feeling he didn’t notice at first that Bro was following his lead, mimicking his movements. That wasn’t fair, Dave thought, he couldn’t be see him and Dave had never done this with someone else before, he wasn’t going to last long enough to get him off. Could ghosts get off? No, that’s a stupid question, why would he be hard if he couldn’t? Dave resolved to not think any more stupid questions as he sped up his pace.

Dave is unable to bite back a high-pitched keen that erupts all at once from the back of his throat when he feels Bro’s fingers matching thew new pace he set. It’s soo good, way too good too fast, and he can already feel that telltale warmth coiling in his gut. He pulls away from the cool lips, frozen tongue and whispers breathily, “I’m gonna-”

He Bro doesn’t stop. In fact, he falls out of rhythm with Dave to tighten and twist and Dave is leaning forward, head pressed into cold flesh, a cold neck as he moans out in his grip. His pace on Bro’s dick falls as Dave falls to pieces there in front of him, loud, needy, hot breaths pouring from his pink lips as his body tenses, back arches- 

“B-bro,” Dave whispers, his hot cum spilling onto those cold fingers, his own warmth intermingling with a cold so deep it’s incompatible with life. If Dave were a writer, or maybe a poet, he’d stop to ponder about the implications about the seed that bears life itself being thrust into the hands of those who’ve lost their own. Perhaps he’d write about the ponderings of life juxtaposed with the expression of death, what life means after death. But Dave isn’t a writer, he’s a twelve year old boy who just came due to someone else’s ministrations for the first time in his life, and instead of waxing poetic about the symbolism that lie herein this scene, one of many in his short but eventful life, he’s instead thinking, “Holy shit, that felt fucking awesome.”

And as his small body shakes, still feelings phantom tinges of pleasure which each twitch of his dick, all he could think of was returning the favor. Dave realizes his hand is still wrapped loosely around Bro’s dick and returns to stroking it, and right now he wishes he could talk. It hurts to consider the alternative, that he’s choosing to not talk, so he doesn’t consider it. He tries hard not to think too hard about the situation when a large cold hand wrapped around his own.

As Dave followed Bro’s direction, as he let him use both of their hands to jerk im off in tandem, Dave almost felt like laughing. If you had told him a week ago he’d end up jerking off a ghost he would’ve laughed in your face because haha! Very funny joke! It’s original, he’ll give you that! But there wasn’t a dream, it wasn’t a joke, it wasn’t a hallucination, this was all real. There was no alternative, you simply cannot fake knowledge of games you haven’t beaten, or the feeling of throbbing ghost dick in your hands. 

And maybe Dave should be a bit more unnerved by the fact this was very likely an ancestor of his he was jerking off- perhaps he should be nonplussed he was happily going along with the supernatural pervert who’d been spying on him for a year. And there was no getting around that at this point, was there? Dave couldn’t shrug off his presence as anything innocent anymore, not as cold breath ran over his lips, teeth tugged at his bottom lip. The word obsessed rang through his head.

_ “Dave…” _

Dave feels his name grumbled into his mouth and he happily laps it up. It was so quiet that if it hadn’t been in that voice, the voice that laughed at him, the voice in his dream, he wouldn’t had been sure he’d heard anything at all. But no, he was moaning his name, Dave’s name, and the feeling washed over Dave’s body. He wanted to hear it again, to hear more noises, more words. 

He thought of the word obsessed, he thought of the concept of obsession, and decided if Bro was obsessed with him that was okay since lately he was feeling just as obsessed with him. He felt overwhelmed by the emotions he was experiencing, by the presence showering sensation upon him. Dave wasn’t sure what to do but he knew with startling clarity he wanted to make the man who made him feel good feel just good. Maybe even better, if he could manage it. 

Set on that goal, he kissed him the way Bro had kissed him at first. Hard, impatient, tongue running along the freezing cold one inside and when Dave closed his eyes it was all so easy to visualize. Opening his eyes just muddied it, made it harder to comprehend, so he squeezed them shut and focused.   The human body is intuitive, if he kept his eyes closed and felt instead of look, he could figure it out. Bro’s hand gripped Dave’s harder, so Dave gripped Bro’s length in turn harder. Dave felt it move in his hand and let out a breathy sigh. He was taking so much longer than Dave had. 

But Dave gets the sense he’s getting close when Bro starts pushing his hips into their grip. It’s throbbing slowly in his hand and- it’s anti-climactic when Bro comes, really. Dave is unable to see his body language and doesn’t even realize it’s looming on them until he feels something even cold on his fingers. When Bro let’s go of his hand, Dave can’t help but open his eyes to investigate. It’s strange, it’s not at all different in consistency than his own. 

When he spreads his fingers he feels the chill disappear in ebbing splatters- and he realizes it’s disappearing. That certainly  _ was _ anti-climactic. Somehow, it was disappearing that the evidence Bro’s orgasm was disappearing in his hand. But it’s not like he’d say it out loud. Dave looks at where Bro’s eyes would be and suddenly isn’t sure how to feel. On one hand, he’s happy they both came. On the other hand, he’s rethinking his prior hesitance to the situation. He doesn’t have long to consider it though, not with how tired he is after cumming. 

Dave tries to keep his eyes open as that bone chilling cold pulls away from him, and finds himself unable to resist the back completion of sleep looming behind his eyelids. 


End file.
